The Invisible Line
by seghen
Summary: Who is to determine where love starts and hate ends? A wordy, witty, wonderful dialogue between two people who truly cannot decide whether they want to murder or marry each other.
1. Where it all ended

She knew who it was before the door opened. She always knew.

This was the first time that he dared approach her after the quote unquote incident. He was smarter than most gave him credit for and he could read her like a book. Well, a book with incredibly blurred pages filled with plot holes. Still, he understood, though not any more or less than Harry or Ron.

But they were gone, one forever, and the other until he felt the need or inclination to show up. Who knew when it would happen, after defeating the great Lord Voldemort Harry was a reclusive, the occasional letter reaching her to promise his safety? She knew that he was all right, with or without the infrequent post that trickled her way. They had a connection, something inexplicable, but no less real all the same. She had had it with Ron, as well.

No tears formed as she recalled her lost love. She had shed useless buckets of salt water, but that changed nothing. Hermione Granger was not the type to do something for nothing. Logic was her safety blanket, but she did not use it for the first five months after his death.

It had been unfair, in a word. The end had been cruel and brief and somewhat underhanded, no shock given the antagonists. No great battle to commemorate his nobility. No climactic buildup, no great last words, just cold, harsh death. It had happened after the Great War, after Harry defeated one of the greatest, and most evil, wizards of all time, while Ron was asleep. Some cowardly Death Eater exacted his revenge on an unconscious victim. He had been murdered by a coward.

Harry attended the funeral, crawling out of his secret world for a day's time before plummeting back into the darkness and isolation. This was where he dwelled now, his new home. He had seen too much, but Hermione did not pity him as much as most. She knew his strength, knew his heart. He was just tired of fighting, and it did not matter that he could win the battle. He had defeated his arch nemesis and that seemed to be enough. Hermione did not try to argue with him. She knew all to well that he was quite as stubborn as she.

Life returned to normal. Well, as normal as life could be in the wizarding world after such a traumatic event. And then came him, Malfoy with his I-don't-care-what-you-think attitude and irritatingly endearing sarcasm.

They did not fall head over heels in love. Their relationship did not spark with wild animal sex and mutual attraction; their years of spite and hatred were too thick for something as simple and raucous as that. Years after being forced together did, eventually take a toll on them. It had taken eight years for him to admit it.

She did not even turn as he came from behind her. "What do you want?" This was no time for formalities.

She could practically see his sneer as he spoke, "Nice to see you as well, Granger. I'm doing spectacular, but now you've been so courteous, it's the least I can do to ask how you are." His voice was dripping with sarcasm but she could sense the innuendo beneath it.

The sun was midway through the sky and though she had not checked the time for hours she estimated that it was nearly three o'clock. "I could repeat the question for the hard of hearing."

He leaned forward and pressed his weight on the railing of the balcony, looking at her. She refused to reciprocate his glare. "Just wanted to talk, is all. Is that a sin?" She did not speak, forcing him to continue, "We can pretend that I didn't say anything. Of course, we both know that it'll do no good. The tension would be enough to kill us."

She frowned slightly. "Unless I do the deed."

"As witty as ever, Granger."

"Eight years of being my partner and I'm still 'Granger?' Seems stupid."

"I'm still Malfoy."

"That's different. You don't look like a 'Draco.'"

"Maybe you don't look like a 'Hermione.'"

"Who are you kidding? The name fits."

"Well, I had no control over what my mother decided to name me."

"You look more like a William or something of the sort. More English, less Italian."

"Maybe you'd prefer the name Wilma or Elsie."

"I don't look like an Elsie."

"How would you know?"

"I just do."

"Know-it-all."

"You think you can bait me into a fight? Nearly a decade with Ron and Harry would teach me better."

"It was worth a try."

"No it wasn't."

"Must you be so insufferable?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"Then why are you?"

"It's amusing to see you try to analyze every word that comes out of my mouth."

"You're the mistress of double-meanings."

"Maybe you should just accept that."

"Not in my nature, Granger."

"Not in my nature to compromise." The wily witch had baited him.

"Damn."

"I'm good."

"You are," he admitted.

She was taken aback by this startling answer, "Admitting defeat are we?"

"Never. Just recognizing your talent in a battle of wits."

"One of my many talents."

"Name another."

"The ability to come up with ridiculous acronyms."

"You are ingenious in that practice."

"What can I say?"

"That you'll marry me."

A beat and a pause greeted this request that was phrased as a demand. "You should learn from past mistakes. You can't trick me."

"I don't want to trick you." He licked his lips. "Well, perhaps I do, if that would make you consent to being my wife."

"I think all those years being hit by a bludger did serious brain damage."

"I'd be more worried about Potter."

"I know for a fact that he has suffered such ailments." She informed him before continuing. "What is it that brought on your infatuation? Our invigorating arguments?"

"No."

"My stunning beauty?"

He laughed.

"Not a good answer," she warned.

"It's only about looks when you're young."

"We're not even thirty."

"We are coming dangerously close."

"Was Pansy a conquest for attraction's sake?"

"And blood."

"We all bleed red."

"We're not all pure."

"We don't all marry our distant cousins."

"Someday someone will disprove that and it will be widely accepted that all Muggles are interrelated as well."

"When it is I will marry you."

"That could be centuries."

"Exactly."

"You like holding this over my head, don't you?"

"It's better than Christmas."

"What about Halloween?"

"Never cared much for the holiday before Hogwarts."

"What about after?"

"It was a day for good food and a surprise or two."

"There was always a surprise or two in Hogwarts."

"Or three."

"Or eleven, who knows."

"Who cares?" she asked.

"Maybe I do."

"Then I definitely don't."

"You are insufferable."

"You've already said that."

"And you admitted it."

"I _acknowledged_ it, not admitted."

"Is there a difference, Miss Nit-picker?"

"Look it up."

"In our entire conversation have you answered any question with more than one sentence?"

She paused. "I'm not quite sure. My memory's not what it used to be. There, that was two. No make that three sentences."

"Your memory is still better than mine ever was."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Oh, it has to get me somewhere."

"Fine, it won't get you far."

"You are bitter."

"According to you I'm old."

"We're not even thirty!"

"That's what I said." She looked at him strangely.

"You are bitter and old."

"One is a result of another."

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes," she agreed with a slight smile.

"Do you love me?"

"I'm not sure."

"I love you."

"That sounds strange coming from you."

"I practice in front of the mirror every night. You have to know if you love me."

"Maybe I'm confused."

"You?"

"I'm not perfect." He smiled, but kept the biting insult to himself.

"I never claimed you were."

"You implied it."

"I've known you for nearly twenty years."

"Nearly."

"I've loved you for half that time."

"Before we were reunited against the odds and forced to overcome our hate for the greater good, as I'm sure some lame author will put it when our 'story' is published in the Prophet?"

"You would be a good tabloid writer."

"I'm too 'old' to start a new career," she replied scathingly.

"You take everything too personally."

"And you shake everything off."

"This just makes me enjoyable and you crabby."

"And yet you are the one begging for me to marry you."

"Practically begging. I have not gotten down on one knee and lost all of my pride and dignity yet. But if that what it takes, so be it."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Why don't you care at all?" he asked.

"I do care...a lot."

"So this is all for show?"

"I'm not teasing, I'm just confused."

"Do you still think that you would be betraying Weasley?"

"No. He died nine years ago, a year before you happened."

"I 'happened'? What am I, a cataclysmic event?"

"I suppose, at least in some ways."

"And I did love you before then-"

"But you were confused, too?"

"Somewhat."

"Unwilling to admit the truth?"

"Perhaps-"

"Afraid that you would disgrace your family?"

"The sentence finishing habit you seem to have picked up is irritating."

"I find it endearing."

"You would."

"You're a child."

"I thought that we covered that I'm practically half-dead, old and withered?"

"You're not even thirty."

"Neither are you."

"I have a few weeks."

"September nineteenth?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I'm not a complete imbecile."

"Well, you fooled me."

"And I'm the child."

"I'm the spinster."

"I'm the bachelor."

"But you don't want to be one. A bachelor, that is."

"And you want to be a spinster?"

"I prefer the term single."

"May I remind you that you are the one who used the expression spinster?"

"I was being sardonic."

"I couldn't tell. Your sarcasm and serious tones are so similar that I am often confused."

"Now you know the feeling."

"I knew it before."

"From what?"

"Must you torture me?"

"Yes."

"It becomes quite drab."

"I never grow sick of it."

"You are a sadist."

"And you, sir, are a sucker for punishment."

"I do like you, so I suppose that your interpretation, while radical, is not entirely incorrect."

"Love, I believe, is the term that you used."

"I'm tired."

"Overly tired?"

"No, just regularly tired."

"I can't tell."

"I'm shocked. I thought that you might have commented on the bags under my eyes."

"Now that you mention it-"

"Don't make me toss you off this balcony."

She smiled. "Like to see you try."

"Really?"

"Well, now I am a bit scared."

"Glad to see that I terrify you."

"That's a bit of an overstatement."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Do you realize that we have spoken until the sun set about absolutely nothing-"

"And everything at the same time."

"I told you that the sentence finishing is annoying."

"When is the last time I took a suggestion of yours?"

"I wish you would have taken one when I told you to jump off a bridge or do something else rather unpleasant to yourself."

"No, you would like it if I had accepted your proposition."

"You make it sound like a business offer."

"It was hardly romantic."

"It was the best I could manage. What did you want, sunset with roses and candles?"

"We have sunset."

"I could conjure some doves."

"Not necessary, but it's the thought that counts."

"That's just what people who are unsatisfied with a gift say."

"Not always. Sometimes people who are unsatisfied by someone's clichéd attempt at proposing say 'it's the thought that counts.'"

"True."

"I won't marry you." He was silent. "But I will give you a chance."

"Good to know."

"Oh, don't pretend like you're not somewhat pleased with my decision."

"It was inevitable."

"It was improbable."

"A decade ago you would have said impossible."

"Yes. Times change."

"People change."

"Circumstances change."

"Are we going to go through a list of all the things that change or are we going to snog?" Hermione laughed at his suggestion.

"Not on the first date."

What'd you think? Have u ever started writing something that was supposed to be kind of sad and had it end up like this? Please, review. I kind of like my new style of dialogue.


	2. It is simply Impossible

**Eight years prior:**

"That is a sick, sick joke, Hopkiss," Hermione said, her eyes wide and her jaw practically reaching her chest.

"Oh, Granger. You know I have no sense of humor," he said in return, patting her shoulder sympathetically.

"There is no way...it's impossible. Malfoy? No. Never. Not in a century...not in three centuries. Not in _any_ number of centuries!" She continued to ramble as her supervisor leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in a manner that simply expressed the fact that there was nothing she could do to possibly change his mind.

He cut right through her. "You are a Healer-in-Training, Granger, and a bloody good one at that. You have shown skill in both the operating room and behind the desk; you have promise, as does this Mr. Malfoy character. I fear that it is not within your control to change the circumstances of your advancement."

She frowned deeply before speaking. "I could quit."

Mr. Hopkiss barely restrained himself from laughing. "But you won't. You're not much of a quitter, Granger." Damn! He had a point.

"I refuse to intern with him, Hopkiss. Pair me with anyone, with a disaster, a complete and total fool who doesn't know a wand from a stick anyone besides him."

Her boss seemed thoughtful for a moment, giving her false hope. "What is it that you and this Mr. Malfoy have against one another?"

She paused, attempting to find the most adequate way to put it. "Personal differences."

He let out a snort of amusement. "Ah, the Gryffindor-Slytherin prejudices. I near forgot how pigheaded the two houses could be." Of course he didn't. He was a Hufflepuff and as such he'd been constantly stuck in the middle.

Her lips puckered in distaste. "It's not that alone, Hopkiss. Whether he was a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw Draco Malfoy is still an insufferable prat. If I were to tell you that we did not get along it would be a gross understatement, to say the least."

Mr. Hopkiss frowned. "I heard rumors of rivalries betwixt Mr. Malfoy and Potter, but I didn't read into them. The entire Dueling Club fiasco seemed too far-fetched for my tastes." He had been a sixth year at the time, four years Hermione's senior.

"Well, it's not 'far-fetched', I was there. Not even ten years ago when he gave me beaver-esque teeth could I possibly have worked with him! I cannot work with this man."

"Perhaps he's changed over the past three or so years, Granger."

Hermione shook her head furiously. "No, Malfoy never changes. I doubt it that he's bushy-tailed and eager to be working with me, either."

Hopkiss nodded fairly. "He isn't looking forward to it, per se, though he handled the news quite well."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"NO! NEVER!" he roared, alarming people one hundred meters away.

"You don't have a choice, Mr. Malfoy. You two are at similar levels and are, in essence, the only possible candidates for the internship. I fear that this is inevitable." Hopkiss informed him.

Draco Malfoy looked dumbstruck. "NO, I say. Not never, not ever, I would prefer thirteen hours of the Cruciatus to suffering the pain of the poster child for know-it-all-ism," he said stubbornly in return.

"I don't believe that that is a word, Mr. Malfoy." Hopkiss said fairly. This did nothing to ease Draco's temper.

"By the end of the week one of us will be dead and I have little doubts that it will be me who suffers the pain of either unemployment of death-"

Hopkiss cut straight through him. "You should feel quite privileged to be working with Ms. Granger. She is quite the professional."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"I don't want to!" she cried, her tone short of wailing, only a few steps short of throwing herself to the floor and throwing a full-blown temper-tantrum.

"It will only be a few months, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "And then we'll be stuck in the same ward at St. Mungo's until we retire!"

"Or quit," he added sarcastically.

"Is there any possibility of leeway here, Russ?" she asked, for the first time forgetting to address him formally in her hope for a reprieve.

He blinked before shaking his head. "No possibility, Granger. You'll just have to get used to the disappointment of the workforce, perhaps it will be a good lesson."

She widened her eyes. "A lesson? I've learnt enough lessons to last me for several years. I believe that my lesson-insurance will run out when I hit let's see…forty-two!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"If you continue to insist on acting like a child I will impale you on this quill," Hopkiss threatened only half jokingly, wielding his writing implement as a weapon.

"If it would get me out of working with Granger, so be it," He muttered beneath his breath, his attitude not escaping Hopkiss' attention.

"I heard that, Mr. Malfoy," he said sharply, narrowing his eyes. "The two of you will get along well enough to work together if it kills you."

**Weeeeeelllll...that's it for the second chapter, how'd u like it?**


	3. After graduation, before love

_Sorry it took so long. Inspiration strikes sparingly. YESTERDAY WAS MY BIRTHDAY! HEEHEE! so happy. please review._

"Granger…" Hermione did not appreciate Hopkiss's tone. If he expected her to greet Malfoy with open arms he was sadly mistaken.

The two of them stood at polar opposites of the room, both with their arms crossed and their eyes evading the gaze of the other. "Hello." She said coldly, every letter dripping with open hostility. He just nodded before turning away.

"Well, this is awkward," Hopkiss said aloud, hoping to break the ice. He might as well have said absolutely nothing for all the good it did. "I'll leave you two to it, then. I'll be back in a few moments. Why don't you reacquaint yourselves?" The two of them were far too uncomfortable to point out the blatant stupidity in his comment so he vacated the premises without reprimand.

Hermione collapsed stiffly into a hard-back chair, sighing as she massaged her temples. He eyed her warily before seating himself and turning away, fiddling with an abandoned quill he'd found on some desk.

"How is life after Hogwarts?" Hermione was first to break the silence. He stopped fiddling and looked up, an expression of pure irritation on his face as though she had interrupted something quite important and fascinating.

"Fine, that is until now. You had to sully it up, didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes in her direction, though he never looked at her directly.

She snorted in a rather unladylike manner. "Yes, and having you here has been a building block to fulfilling my dream of killing myself before the age of thirty," she snapped back at him without missing a beat.

"Neither of us want to be here, Granger so you can join the bloody club or kiss my…" She raised a stiff hand while she raised her head into the air in a dignified manner.

"I will never kiss anything on you, Malfoy. You couldn't even Cruciatus me into it," she said snidely. He did not appreciate her cheek.

"As if I would ever let your dirty little lips anywhere near me." He was coming dangerously close to losing his cool.

"You do not have to worry about that because I would rather eat a vat of Bobutuber pus than touch you. Unless it's to slap you silly," she added quickly, recalling the choice instance in third year where she did just that.

For a moment it seemed as though he had nothing to say on the matter. However, before satisfaction could set in he opened his trap, "You've got a superiority complex, Granger. Always holding your nose in the air, acting like your…your…lineage is something to be proud of." She came dangerously close to leaping out of her seat.

"Oh really, Malfoy? Can you really say that I act like my lineage is something to brag on when throughout all seven years of school you did positively nothing but brag about your bloodline? A bloodline, which by the way is only the result of generations of incestuous relations! Maybe that is where you got that nose," she replied hotly, feeling the color rise to her cheeks slowly.

He turned a slight shade of pink. "I believe that you have crossed the line, madam!" he stated, his voice oddly calm.

She glanced up in amusement. "Since when is there any line with you?" she asked in cold contempt.

He mulled over this for but a moment, "It's invisible." He was amused by the thought.

"Nonexistent, more like."

"It's there!" he cried indignant and childishly.

"Really? I don't recall it ever being enforced during our school days."

"Well, I resisted the urge to knock you flat, Granger. You may be…you, but even I have my standards."

"This, of course is presuming that you would've possibly caught me, which is insufferable conceit indeed," she snapped.

"Oh, please. You may have been _slightly_ superior with a wand in those days, but you could never beat me in hand-to-hand."

"_Slightly_ superior? I wiped the floor with you during OWLs and NEWTs, and let us not forget when you ran away when I punched you in the face and I did not have so much as a scratch to show for it." This affected him.

"Well I…uh, ahem, didn't…want…to…hurt a…girl. Yes, that would have made me seem a coward, would it not?"

She nodded sensibly. "Oh, alright. So the whimpering uncontrollably and flailing you skinny wrists like a little girl was all part of the plan to take the higher ground?" she deadpanned.

"You just don't appreciate the favor I did you in sparing you the embarrassment of seeming like a fool in front of your friends."

"Yes, they it's not as though they would have tackled you to the ground and pulverized you beyond repair if you had laid a finger on me." Tears welled in the back of her eyes, though her appearance did not show it. She missed them both so much that it was hard to think back on their golden trio days without a grimace.

He seemed to find this reason enough. "Yes, yes! They would have hurt me!"

She spun this around in record time, "And you were so much of a coward to do anything about it, 'say teach that dirty mudblood a lesson,' especially since you were accompanied by two of the most ridiculously large thirteen year olds I ever laid my eyes on."

"They were fourteen at the time, thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

"You can't even allow me a small victory?" he asked sardonically.

"No, in a war of wits I am the witch who wins," She shot back with surprising speed. There was a moment of smooth silence before the clock overhead began hooting most irritably. A small, animated figurine emerged from the depths of the clock, shrieking her name.

"Oh, it's break time." Thank Merlin. "Hopkiss!" she called, knowing him too well to doubt that he was behind the door.

"Yes?" He appeared, poking his head through the side of the door.

"I'm going to see Ginny, I'll be back in an hour," she promised, summoning her purse and heading toward the fireplace. She said not a word to her new partner as the two of them parted.

"Bloody irritating woman," he grumbled as she disappeared into the green flames, unfazed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Your hands are shaking."

Hermione shook her head and withdrew her hands tentatively, taking in a sip of her bitter coffee. "No, they aren't," she argued feebly as she spilled the piping hot substance down her milk-white scrubs.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow mockingly before returning to her Pumpkin Pasty, "Oh, alright. I must be seeing things. I'm quite sorry for the accusation."

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up from the table, tucking her skirt in beneath her legs.

"I've got to go, Gin. My hour's almost up and you know how Hopkiss can be…" Ginny reached out and took her friend's arm, pulling her back down to the plush seats that had been provided for them.

"Are you still wearing it?" she asked in a hushed tone, glancing cautiously at Hermione's white gloves. When she didn't answer immediately, Ginny continued, "It's been almost two years. You've got to get over all this." Hermione wanted to bark something hateful back, accuse Ginny of disloyalty to her late brother, say that she had not wholly gotten over Harry's abandonment, why she should she feel any differently about Ron?

Instead she removed her gloves quickly, slapping them down on the coffee table harshly. The "smack" resounded through the room and a few people turned their heads. Hermione spread her fingers apart and pushed them to her friend's face with a look of fierce satisfaction. They were bare. "No, are you happy? Now I've got to go," she mumbled, turning toward the gigantic fireplace situated conveniently near their table.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny called after her hollowly. After all of this time she was sorry about being sorry, and Hermione knew this well enough. With a dramatic pause she stepped in after the Floo powder, her strong voice clearly booming the words "St. Mungo's." Only she and a few other choice employees had access to the Floo Network.

She still had twenty minutes before her shift resumed, but she could not have spent another moment in Ginny's company. Her laughing friend had turned all of her own concerns on her. Instead of using that great magnifying power on herself she judged Hermione, though she too was still reeling from the loss of the one she'd loved so dearly.

But it was all so different. Harry was selfish, brooding in the dark corners of his life and using his pain as an excuse. Everyone else had moved on, healed their wounds and allowed them to form into scars so that they could eventually let it all fade to black. He, of course, was to be the only exception to this rule.

She walked briskly into the loo, most certain that she was still shaking uncontrollably. She turned on the faucets manually, forgetting that a password would start them magically. Taking a handful of the piping hot and bubbling water Hermione splashed it on her face, shuddering as the droplets trickled down the cheeks.

She could not stand it. Seeing Ginny always made her extremely apprehensive, all of their visits seemed to be cut miraculously and mercifully short. She could no longer face the family without extreme nausea and nervousness, and the feeling did not seem mutual. Mrs. Weasley insisted that she was far too thin for her own good, Fred and George tailed her for three weeks, making sure that she ate at every meal and Ginny insisted on meeting regularly, though over one quarter of the time Hermione would cancel without explanation. They all wanted her to forget the pain, to move on, but she couldn't. Now that Ginny was a mother to her, Ron dead and Harry exiled, she was alone.

She reached tentatively into the front of her blouse; pulling up the concealed chain to reveal the engagement ring that Ron gave her. It was simple enough, the diamond not large but still enough to dote upon, and she could not bear to have it removed from her person. Over the past few months she concealed it upon meeting with Ginny, knowing that she would receive quite a scolding and an hour-long discussion of "moving on," as though she were the chief person to issue this advice. She hadn't dated anyone for more than two weeks total after Harry's abandonment and Hermione suspected that she was still involved in the search for the boy-who-lived.

Luckily no one came into the restroom during her brief stay, for they would have been most alarmed to find her racked with sobs. It was not that she did not have a chance to say goodbye, she didn't need closure, and she just wanted an opportunity to save him. She deserved that at least, didn't she? She felt like a coward, like a fraud. She used the façade of being able to handle anything, and two years later she still locked herself in the girls' room, crying on her lunch break?

She wiped her eyes and did a quick concealment charm before strutting out of the bathroom and back to work, ignoring Malfoy most efficiently.


End file.
